Quite Literally, an Angel
by CaptainMcNeil
Summary: 'And the Epoque read: Erik is dead.' The story doesn't end with death though. Death is only the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is not my first fore into the fan fiction world, but I've deleted my previous work as it was horrible. This work is primarily based on the 1911 novel, but there may be other references. It'll be a one-shot unless I get someone who wants me to continue. As always, R and R, though I would appreciate constructive criticism, and not coddling.

"And the Epoque read: **ERIK IS DEAD**."

He was not buried in a Christian ceremony, there was no need. His instructions had asked for something plain. He was not a believer, after all. How could there be a God, if he would condemn him to live such a life? A hideous caricature of a human, gifted with a talent no one would ever hear, or care to see?

Christine Daae had been his life's work. Erik had put his soul into her rise to fame; with her gone there was no hope. The music was sucked from his soul. He had languished in his room, withering away.

Death was a welcome reprieve.

It had been peaceful; darkness creeping and taking over his vision, his breathing slowing. His last thought had been her beautiful face, then his heart twisted with agony, picturing the vicomte next to her, loving her, kissing her. Having her love, something Erik had pined for year after year, and would never have.

That was his last thought.

Erik was not a Catholic, not a Jew, not a Muslim or Hindu or Buddhist. He believed in no afterlife, no divine being. There would be nothing, and he wanted nothing. All he wanted was peace.

Gasping for breath, he woke up. Instead of the torture he had felt before he died, there was peace. There was no darkness, just light. The light was comforting and warm, wrapping him in love and happiness. He nearly wept, but his disbelief kept it away.

"Where am I?" he asked the light, "I'm dead. There should be nothing."

"Do you know who I am, M. Erik?"

The voice was powerful, deep and booming. Erik wanted to tremble, but he also felt a angelic presence.

"I would say God, but I do not believe in him."

The voice laughed happily, not taking what Erik said into offense.

"Erik, I am God."

"You do not exist!" Erik spat, "If you did, why would you let me live the way I did, begging for scraps of attention like a dog from a mistress who cared nothing for me, only feared me? Why?"

"I exist as much as you did."

"You are not answering my question!"

"Christine did care for you, Erik, but could she have a proper marriage, a family, from you?"

Erik took a breath to answer, but stopped and stayed silent.

"You have beauty, Erik. Look into your soul, your music. Is there not beauty in that?"

"Music could not win me my love. A soul could not sway her."

"It did, Erik! She loves you more then she could tell you, or you could know!"

"Then why the vicomte?"

"You gave her your love, then her permission to leave you. Raoul risked his life for her, and you have not." 

"I would be willing!" Erik screamed with a hint of desperation.

The voice sighed.

"Let me show you something."

The light changed, showing a scene in a small chapel. Raoul and Christine stood before a priest, who was finishing the marriage vows. Erik could see that golden ring on Christine's finger.

"So she excepted my gift. I half expected her to toss it to the gutter after she left. Raoul could surely buy her a beautiful ring with diamonds and such. Is that not what a woman would want?"

"That ring means the world to her, Erik. She will love you as her mentor. Would she have succeeded without you?" the voice said as the scene disappeared back to white light.

Erik shook his head, reflecting.

She had looked beautiful, as always. The scene had been happy, even if it was an elopement. Christine loved Raoul, Raoul loved Christine. It would be, it must be a happy marriage.

"She will never forget you, Erik. You will always be her Angel of Music."

"Literally, an Angel," Erik laughed mirthlessly.

"You can be that for her now. She may never be the star you dreamed, but she will love music for life."

"I will be able to see her? To watch over her?" Erik asked, his heart lifting.

"Of course, Erik."

For the first time in weeks, Erik felt joy.

"I am her Angel of Music," he whispered.

He felt music fill his soul once again.


	2. Familiar Tunes

A/N: Thanks to an overwhelming majority of my reviewers wishing for a continuation, here we go. As suggested by MetalMyersJason, the story will now follow Erik as he watches over Christine and her marriage. Suggestions are appreciated. Decisive ALW references. As always, R and R.

"When may I see her?" Erik asked God.

It had been several weeks, at least that is what he thought, since he had died. Although eternal happiness was wonderful, his thoughts had been consumed with her, and the knowledge that she was now in his care.

"Soon, M. Erik. You would not deny the couple privacy on their honeymoon?"

"No."

Erik paused before saying anything else.

"What is my role, God? How will I look after her?"

"When Christine is sad, you will be a spiritual comfort that Raoul cannot provide. When she prays, you will carry her prayers to me. If she sings again," God paused, "you will be there with her, carrying her voice as you once did. Remember, you are her Angel of Music."

"Will I be able to talk to her?" Erik asked hopefully.

"That all depends. You will have to be creative in your way to communicate. She will not be able to hear you, or if you touch her she will not feel it."

"If I knocked over a vase would she see that?"

"Of course."

A plan was forming itself in Erik's mind. There were many ways to get Christine's attention; all he needed to do was to remind her of the Opera Garnier.

Absentmindedly humming to himself, his voice found a familiar tune. _Masquerade, paper faces on parade. Masquerade…_

"…hide your face so the world will never find you!" Erik shouted, "that's it! Christine knows that song…I can play it on an instrument!"

With a smile he shouted,

"God! You must let me talk to Christine!"

"Must I, Erik?"

"Sorry," he mumbled, not meaning it, "but if I am to be her Angel, I must talk to her, and I have figured out a way to! Please, let me see her. All I need is five minutes!"

God laughed, "all you had to do was ask, Erik. Of course."

With a flash the perpetual light disappeared, replaced by a busy Parisian street. The sounds of a bustling city, once an annoyance, cheered him up. He was now a part of the living. Erik looked around for a street sign, then found the badly dinted metal reading: Rue de Sainte Victoire. _Not the best neighborhood. Certainly Raoul could afford better. In fact, why not the de Changy residence? Why am I here?_ He thought for a moment, then realized Raoul's parents would not approve of their son marrying a commoner. He had forsaken his money and title for her.

_Would I have done that?_

_Of course. Christine was my world and my life. I would do anything for her, kill myself even._

Erik shook the traitorous thought from his mind and approached the door. His hand, still gloved in black, hesitated at the knob.

"Will the door open for me, God?" he asked, though he had no idea if God could hear him.

"Erik, you are an angel, not bound by the laws of the world. If you need to get through the door, the door will open."

"Merci," he turned the handle and stepped into the apartment.

It was shabby and not well-maintained. Erik could not tell that anyone was living here; there was barely any furniture that he could see. Was there even a piano or a violin he could use? If Christine couldn't hear him sing…

"God, I asked for you to take me to Christine. Where is she?" Erik asked, getting a bit annoyed.

"Look around a bit. You have not moved from the entrance."

Erik scowled at no one in particular and walked forward. He was used to creeping silently, but it startled him that, even with dress shoes on, he made no sound on the wooden floor, not even a creak.

"Is Raoul home?"

"He is conveniently out."

Erik entered what he thought was a living room. Now it seemed like someone inhabited the house; there where chairs, a sofa, bookcases, and, his heart leapt a bit, a piano. Christine had not forgotten her musical past.

Christine was sitting on the sofa, facing a dying fire. Erik's breath caught in his throat looking at her beautiful face framed by gold hair which seemed even lighter in the cast from the fire. Her shoulders were slumped, her head in her hands. She needed comforting; she looked so alone and tired.

"You are sure if I touch her she will not feel it? I do not want to scare the poor girl."

"Yes."

Erik crossed the room and sat by her. She did not notice the movement; too deeply engrossed in her thoughts. He reached out slowly, not believing that he could caress her face one last time. Her skin was cold through the gloves, despite being by a fire. Was she sick? His heart lurched thinking of poor Christine, ill and alone with no one there with her.

"Oh Christine…" Erik stared at her, and then down at the floor, "maybe I should not have done this. I should leave her alone and let her live out her life with the Vicomte. I am dead, there is no use pining over the living."

"Erik, you are her guardian! You will not hurt her marriage by remaining that."

"What if she does not recognize the song? What if she does not care?"

"Believe in yourself, Erik, for once!"

"Self-confidence cannot be gained that quickly."

He sighed and stood up, gaze flitting to the piano. The ivory keys and wood, it was so tempting! When was the last time he had played? Without even realizing it, he was walking towards the piano. The bench did not creak as he sat down, and for a moment, he doubted that he could actually play.

"God, you said this would work."

"I never said anything of the sort."

_Believe Erik! _He tried to convince himself.

He had never had self-esteem. No one had praised him before or told him he could succeed, save the Persian, and was he here now? No.

Black gloved hands poised over the ivory, itching to play. With a deep breath, he hummed the first line of the song and began.

The effect was instantaneous. Christine jumped from the couch, screaming in terror. Erik momentarily faltered in the song, hating that he had frightened her, but continued anyway at a quiet mezzo-piano.

"How can this happen?" Christine cried out, "Erik is dead, and only he and I know this song."

She ended speaking in a whisper.

"Erik, is that you?"


	3. Christ est ressuscité

"Yes!" Erik cried out, even though Christine could not hear him. She had recognized him!

What would he do now, though?

"God, if I write on something, can Christine see that?"

"Yes, Erik. If you change something in the physical world, it will show."

_Pencil and paper…where am I going to find that? I cannot rifle through their things…_

The ashes. He could spell a message out with ashes. Quickly, Erik got up from the bench and went over to the fire, brushing past Christine who was still staring at the piano. He hesitated above the dying embers, still scared that he would get burned, then took a handful of ashes and dumped them on the floor. Christine noticed, almost accidentally as she checked behind her.

"Mon Dieu!" she gasped, crossing herself.

Taking of his glove, Erik spread the ashes out and wrote 'Yes'. Christine walked over, very slowly, and crouched besides the pile.

"Yes…? This is not real."

Erik erased the 'Yes' and put "It is Erik'.

Christine screamed again, and fainted. Erik gasped and crawled over to her, hoping that, since she had been close to the ground, the fall had not hurt her. She appeared alright, for someone who had just fainted, but he could not resist the temptation to take her in his arms and embrace her. It felt natural, it felt right to hold her.

Erik did not realize he had begun to cry. He was sobbing into her hair, angry tears for scaring her, ecstatic tears because he could hold her, and tears of sadness, because he was not _actually_ holding her. Knowing that no one could see him, he slipped off his mask to avoid ruining it. The Demonic Angel held his personal Angel in a moment of tenderness.

"I am sorry Christine, forgive me, please! I just wanted to let you know."

Erik did not realize that Christine could actually feel his tears. It had trickled down from her hair to her face, waking her.

She could hardly believe she was suspended off the floor. Christine wretched herself out of Erik's grasp and fell to the ground, backing away to curl up against the sofa. She was terrified.

Erik started to sob again. All he had wanted to do was hold her!

"Leave me alone, Erik. Please, just leave me alone."

He crawled over to the ashes and took another handful over to Christine. She scurried further away.

_Please do not be afraid. _

"How can I not be? A dead man is talking to me."

_I was sent by God._

"You did not believe!"

_I do now._

"Why Erik?"

_To look over you._

"I have Raoul."

_I can be a real Angel of Music._

"I am never singing again, Erik. Never."

_You do not need to._

"Raoul will be home soon. I cannot tell him of this, he will think I am insane."

_Goodbye, Christine._

Though he was at loath to leave her, Erik swept the ashes back into the fire, put on his mask and glove, then left. She was right; Raoul could never know of this. He had already thought of her as insane, and that was when he was alive!

He wandered aimlessly around Paris, deep in his own thoughts. The cobblestone beneath him became cleaner and neater as he walked, but he did not notice where he has gone until he gazed upon the all-to familiar façade of the Opera Garnier. There would be no one here now; there was always a break in between seasons. Erik could go in if he wanted to and visit his old haunts.

Confident because of what had transpired with Christine, he entered through the front of the Opera, something he had never been able to do before. Now, instead of its Phantom he was a costumer…maybe, even the star.

With a devilish grin he ran to the stage. Always at the side, never on it, the stage was magnificent and thrilling. Staring out into the rows of plush velvet seats, he felt at home. This was were Erik deserved to be. He had the most overwhelming desire to sing, but what could possibly suffice as his opera debut?

_Faust. Nothing less._

_Christ est ressuscité! (Christ is risen)_

_ Christ vient de renaître! (Christ is reborn)  
Paix et félicité (Peace and Happiness)  
Aux disciples du Maître! (The disciples of the Master)  
Christ vient de renaître! (Christ is reborn)  
Christ est ressuscité! (Christ is risen)  
L'univers racheté (The world redeemed)  
A tressailli de joie! (- - - Rejoice)  
Il écrase, il foudroie (It crushes, it thunders)  
L'hydre d'iniquité! (The hydra of iniquity)  
Christ est ressuscité! (Christ is risen)_

Erik could imagine the audience standing, cheering, for him! Not for Christine, but for him! He smiled and bowed at the imaginary crowd.

_They cheered for him, they wanted him to sing again. There were roses tossed upon the stage, the women were crying, and underneath his mask so was Erik. Lights, on him, like it should have been all these years. The focus of Paris music, on him. He would be the subject of adoration. People would…_

Then the dream ended. He was back on a dark stage, facing no one, singing for no one. Erik sighed unhappily and walked off. No one would ever want to hear him sing. No one ever had.

"God? May I go back?"

The stage of the Opera Garnier disappeared before his eyes.

A/N: The reason I chose Faust is once, I read that Faust was Erik's favorite opera. It's a beautiful piece of work (it's also my favorite), so check out the Faust Finale. As always, R and R. I had a sad because I got one review :(. Any mistakes in the translation is Google's fault.


	4. Ashes and the Bois de Boulogne

Christine stared at the ashes on the floor, still spelling out 'Au revoir, Christine.' She did not believe what she saw, after all, Erik was dead, and he should be in Hell. The Devil would never allow one of his tortured souls to hold her, let alone speak to her again. She was his happiness, and there was no happiness in Hell.

But if he really was in Heaven, why would he want to leave?

She hurried to brush the ashes back into the fire. If Erik tried to contact her again, she would refuse his company. All she needed was Raoul, she did not need Erik ever again. No longer was she the ingenue, the prima donna, the singer. No, she was simply Christine de Changy.

_Why Erik? Why will you not leave me alone! Your death was to be my reprieve, and now…_

Overwhelming exhaustion hit her. The events of the day was too much for her fragile being. She collapsed onto the couch, closing her eyes.

Sleep was distant. All she could here was

_Masquerade! Paper faces on parade! Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you…_

"Make it stop!" she whimpered.

The music box kept playing, and the monkey kept banging the cymbals.

_Masquerade! Paper faces on parade! Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you!_

ECEC

The trip to Paris had reminded Erik of everything he had missed as a human. He had never been able to stroll through the parks, admire the architecture, and act like a normal person.

Now, an angel, he could. Oh, the irony.

It was a beautiful spring day in the Bois de Boulogne. Erik smiled, content to sit on a bench and watch the people go by.

The only thing that ruined the day was to have to watch the many couples walk past him. They looked to happy, so in love. He wished that that could have been him and Christine, or any woman for that matter.

Except that humans were flawed, and found it hard to look past a mask.

Erik sighed and went back to studying the scenery. There were few flowers in bloom, it was too early for that, but the trees were budding.

A peaceful scene he could only dream of.

One would notice the change in Erik immediately. Gone where the black gloves and dark, depressing suits. Instead, he wore a white shirt, untucked (the horror!), and light pants. He had a nearly perpetual smile.

Erik was happy.

When was the last time that had been?

For a moment, he was even able to forget Christine, and all the pain she had caused him. All that he thought of was the wonderful breeze, the gentle sun, and the beautiful park.

Back on Rue de Sainte Victoire, there was an unearthly scream.

While Erik may be happy, Christine was now the tortured soul.

_…_

A/N: I know this chapter was much shorter then usual, but I wrote it quickly so I could tell you all I'm taken a VERY VERY short hiatus to the story. I've got school in six days, and I need to concentrate for getting ready for that. I will update this next on 8/20 at the latest. I'm taking all advanced/AP/Honors courses so I need to get ready. Updates will be a bit sporadic, but bare with me! Thank you all for understanding!


	5. I Sold My Soul

The Devil still had his hold on Erik's life, and seeing him happy made him angrier by the passing day. Why would a man who'd sold his soul be allowed joy? No one, even the angels could resist the temptation. Erik was no different. Being in heaven or hell was no difference, Erik would once again be his.

So he went for the thing that would hurt Erik the most.

Madame Christine de Changy, his muse and true love.

Erik would be enraged the moment he found out she was in pain.

After Erik had stolen out of the de Changy residence, Lucifer took his spot. Unlike Erik, he could take a physical form. Stealing Erik's identity was nothing to him.

Christine screamed again when he appeared.

"You said you were an angel!"

He said nothing in return.

"Erik, why do you insist on haunting me! I am happy, and you should be too!"

"Even Heaven cannot provide all the joys of living…"

"Do not even think of it!"

"Do you think I am that weak, Christine? No, I was not talking of that."

"You are scaring me, Erik…"

Lucifer smiled.

There was a terrible scream from the Rue de Sainte Victoire. When the neighbors arrived, they found Christine battered and bruised.

"Did Raoul do this to you?" one woman asked, "that dog…"

"No, no…it was Erik!"

"Erik?"

But Christine was too traumatized to talk.

Erik sat happily in the back of a theatre, watching a wonderful version of _The Tempest_. He was engrossed in the story, the spectacle of the costumes and set. Something, however, was nagging at the back of his mind.

He was without worry, why was he nervous? What could possibly bother him?

Erik tried to pay attention to the play again, but the feeling would not leave. Then, he realized with a sinking heart the only person he could be. The only person he cared about who could possibly be hurt

_Christine! _

The play was quickly forgotten, and Erik raced out of the theatre. No one should be even to touch his Christine without his permission. Who would have the gall to hurt her? No one crossed the Phantom of the Opera and lived.

The Rue de Sainte Victoire was still bustling with activity. Though Christine was unconscious, the neighbors wondered who this 'Erik' was and why he would hurt the beautiful young wife. Erik brushed past them all and into the house. Even without his black clothing and perpetual scowl, Erik was a tall, imposing figure, and looking for the bastard that had hurt his beloved made him even more imposing.

The kindly woman had moved Christine to the couch; she lay, prone and wounded. Erik felt an anger that he had not felt for years rise up in him. No one would want to hurt her, and no one should.

He went over to the couch and kneeled next to it, taking Christine's tiny hands.

"I swear, mon cherie, I will find who did this to you, and I will make them pay."

Erik felt liked crying, looking at her beautiful features marred by bruises and blood.

"She said someone named Erik did this to her."

"What?" He roared, turning around to see the insulter, then realized they could not hear him.

"Who could he be?" a second neighbor said.

"There are rumors…and no one saw anyone come in."

"Mon Dieu! Is she insane?'

The first woman looked around, then whispered, "she must be."

"Bless her."

Erik looked down on the worn wooden planks, brow furrowed in concentration.

_No one came in, no one left. Oui, it sounds like I did it. I was not here, though. No other angel, and definitely not God, would harm her. _

_ But who does hate love, and joy?_

Erik knew then who it was.

But how does an angel contacted the Devil?

A/N: A day early! School's going great, I have good classes and even gym isn't bad! I'll hopefully have the next chapter for you all Monday, Wednesday at the latest. So yes, the antagonist is revealed…how is pure angelic Erik to help Christine?


	6. Believe and You Will Find Your Way

Dressed in macabre colors, the anger and sadness that had always been with him before returned, Erik watched.

He waited.

He had seen the specter. He had seen Lucifer. He knew where he entered this world and disappeared down to Hell.

Christine lay about in bed, hardly moving, not daring to speak. She would not acknowledge Erik's presence, convinced he had attacked her. Even then, he still waited by her bedside. He wished he could play for her as he once had, but that would only terrify her.

Damn Lucifer!

He never should have gone to the Devil. Why had he sold his soul? Had he gotten what he asked for? No. Now his dearest Christine was paying, paying with her sanity! He had lost himself once, he would never be able to stand seeing her like that.

Could an angel go insane as well?

He had gone to God for advice, but where it concerned Lucifer, God was not eager to talk. Erik knew the story, how he had once been God's most trusted angel, then betrayed him. The memory must still pain him; Erik understood. But he needed help. Despite the slight boost in confidence when Christine recognized him, he was still lost in his own perceived failures. There was no way he could take on the Devil himself.

So he went to Michael the Archangel.

Though God did not have a physical form, Michael did. He was a tall, ageless man with a handsome face and kindly eyes. Just like he did with God, Erik felt welcomed and comforted around him.

And after all, who best to talk about banishing the Devil then the man who had done it already?

"It will be a very difficult fight, Erik. Though you cannot die, he may take you down to Hell."

"I do not care. I must save Christine. She is hurt, and I cannot bare to see her like this."

"You have all you need to defeat him, Erik. You have love."

"So you have nothing to give me? No advice?"

"He is crafty but weak. Lucifer's only hold on you is fear and hatred. Shed both of them and he will fall."

"I cannot do that. I…I am scared I will fail."

Michael smiled,

"You will not fail, Erik."

"But…"

"Believe, Erik."

"I…"

"Believe."

Erik sighed.

"Now, I think that the best morale boost would be to see Christine before you go."

Erik smiled, "as always."

Immediately Erik appeared beside her. She was pale and weak, eyes staring straight at the ceiling. For a moment Erik thought she was dead, and his heart lurched, but she murmured something and turned, facing him.

"I will send it all away, Christine. It will be over soon. The Devil has no hold on you while I watch you."

He paused.

"Michael says that my love for you will win out, but I do not know if he is right. The Devil seems so strong, and I so weak. After all, you do not love me in return…"

Christine whimpered.

"Do not fret, mon cherie. I will try, I will try my hardest for you. I love you. I hope you will know that it was me that did this…"

He paused again.

"I am so sorry. For everything. I have no idea if I will be able to tell you this. But I am sorry. I am sorry for kidnapping you, for threatening Raoul, for haunting you. I was a evil person then. But I am sorry."

Erik wanted to reach out and touch her, but he dared not to. The touch might terrify her. He needed to get his job done.

The walk to the dank, filthy ally where the Devil appeared was long. Racked with fear and doubt, Erik nearly turned around several times. But his love for Christine kept him going. That looking, that hunted look she bore was too much.

He paused at the entrance of the ally-way, and paused. This was a fools errand! He could never hope to defeat Lucifer! Threads of doubt began to weave around him. No, he was nothing. He could never…

"Of course I can!"

The threads snapped.

"I can defeat him. I will drive him away from my love and cast him back where he belongs! He has no mastery over me!"

With that, Erik strode over to the end of the ally.

"You will be defeated."

The brick buildings melted away and were replaced…

Evil laughter filled the air. Erik turned around.

"So that is who you are."

A/N: Sorry, again, this is late. I'm so busy with homework this week it isn't even funny. I have three tests and a speech for Monday! Oh well, I hope you liked it. The next chapter will probably be the last, followed by an epilouge. Also, for phanpiggy, next chapter will be 2,000 words or more! I'm not promising when it will be here, but it will be before September 13th.


	7. The Night is Overcome

Erik stared, shocked. This is why Christine said it had been him that had attacked her. Oh, the Devil was a crafty spirit.

Why not take the form of the one person who she feared?

He was staring at a clone of himself, the angry self he had left behind. The only form she knew.

"So, you have figured it out, Erik. I knew you were smart enough to."

The Devil smiled. Erik snarled in return.

"How dare you hurt Christine! You have no quarrel with her."

"How dare you presume you could escape eternal punishment! You sold your soul to me, Erik, and now, it is time for you to pay."

Erik shook his head, "My soul was saved, Lucifer. God took pity on me."

"Even he cannot save you! I own you."

"No one owns me," he said quietly.

Lucifer laughed, a freighting fearful laugh that showed no humor.

"Well, I own Christine. You would do anything for her."

"Why else do you think I'm here?"

Erik bravely took a step closer to him. Fear stopped him from taking another. It was as if the Devil had some shield in front of him, and shield of doubt.

All Erik had to do was conquer that doubt, but what had seemed like a simple task on Earth was impossible here. Hell fed off any negative emotion he had towards anything. He was the Phantom of the Opera; he had hatred towards so many people. Himself, Raoul, the managers, Carlotta, Christine, even…

"No, I love Christine. I have nothing against her. She chose right, even if it was not me," a tear ran down his face, "no…she loves her Vicomte. She deserves to be happy with him, and out of your clutches!"

Lucifer laughed again.

"You will never be free! I have your soul and soon she will relinquish hers to me as well!" he sneered, "you can finally be together."

"You cannot have her." 

"I can and I will."

Erik took another step forward, and thought of pleasant things. When Christine had kissed him, when he had seen God, when he learned he would be able to see Christine again. His music, her singing, the beauty of the Opera, all of it flooded back to him.

Before he realized it, he was standing directly in front of the Devil.

It was in that moment that he realized something.

Lucifer could have taken on any form in this meeting; surely, he knew Erik was planning to do this. Why keep this shape? He would have figured out eventually what he had done to harm Christine.

Lucifer was taunting him with the thing he feared, loathed, and hated the most: himself.

The one thing he could never conquer.

High self-esteem for Erik was the days he did not think only of pity for himself and his position. He had never believed in himself, never would, he had been convinced. The Devil knew this, of course. He knew everything about pain and suffering.

Of course, he knew Erik could never look in a mirror. A reflection of himself reminded him of what he had failed to be and what he would never accomplish.

"They do not lie when the say you are a genius, Erik."

"It would not take intelligence to figure that out, Lucifer," he spat, "I can face myself now. I know what I was before; I was evil and filled with hatred. People despised me and I despised people. Then, I met Christine. My heart began to change. When I died, I met God, who said good things about me. Good things, Lucifer! When was that last time I had heard that? From a man I told myself I did not believe in and cursed! He was kind to me, which is more then you have ever been."

The ugly smirk left Lucifer's face.

"You do not have the power to take me or Christine here. Christine is a good, gracious girl. Her soul is as pure as her voice."

Erik stepped forward, forcing the Devil back.

"Now, I have been washed of my sin. I am good as well. Therefore, you cannot take my soul here, either. I owe you nothing! Not my soul, not my punishment!"

"Whatever you have been told is a lie, Erik."

"I am free of you, Lucifer! Leave Christine and I alone! You have no dominion over us! I love, and that is all that is needed to defeat you! I love Christine! She loves me in her own way! I have love!"

"She hates you, you bastard! Who can love you?" Lucifer spat.

"Even if Christine does not share the amount of love I have for her, God loves me as well. You have no power over God."

"Of course I do."

"Then why are you stuck here when I roam free?"

The last remnants of that 'shield' seemed to dissolve away, sending a slew of evil emotions around him. Nothing affected him, though; he felt light, pure, happy.

Victorious.

"Leave us alone," he said, enunciating every word.

"Oh, what a cliché, but you have not seen the last of me, Erik. I never give up on something so important as a soul."

"You will never get it," Erik said sweetly and smiled.

There was nothing left for him here. Erik turned around and left Hell.

On the Rue de Sainte Victoire, Christine sat upright and called out,

"Raoul!"

He ran from his position by the door to her side.

"What is it, Christine?"

"I…I am cured! He saved me, Raoul!" she turned towards him, "Erik saved me!"

"I though you said it was Erik that attacked you," Raoul asked, confused.

"No, no…all I know is that he saved me. I am cured…"

She turned towards the window and out to the sky.

_Thank you, Erik._

She felt a calming sensation sweep over her body.

_Erik? Is that him?_

Love. All she could feel was love. It had to be Erik, no one else could be this wholly consumed with love for her.

"Christine?" Raoul said.

"He is here, Raoul. He is here."

She lay back on the mattress and sighed happily.

"Merci, Erik."

Erik stood by her and watched her fall asleep, happy that the Devil had left her. He turned towards Raoul and whispered,

"Keep her safe, Vicomte. I will be watching you…"

He turned back towards Christine and kissed her cheek, and smiled.

"Be safe, my love. I am here for you, always."

He turned around and left the couple in peace. They were happy, and Erik was as well. Any time Christine was happy he was too.

There was a warm breeze out as he strolled along the streets, smiling.

For the first time in his life, Erik was completely at peace with himself and life.

It was a good feeling.

_I am her Angel of Music. _

He was worthy of that title now.

_THE END_

A/N: 1,151 words according to Word. I tried for 2,000 but it wrapped itself up. I didn't want to add filler. The last chapter, I know you're all sad. I am terribly sad! I loved writing this story, and the praise made me feel so much better about myself. Thanks for loyally following my story, beatleschick1940 and phanpiggy.


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